


stalks and stones

by chromaberrant



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Leo Manfred Redemption, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromaberrant/pseuds/chromaberrant
Summary: Leo Manfred, five months after the death of Carl and the upturning of the world, finds himself in a dark place.Alone with his thoughts and his father's grave, he waits for dawn.





	stalks and stones

**Author's Note:**

> "chroma how is work on any of your --"  
> "shh it's time for Surprise Feels about this half-forgotten jackass"

The flowers on the grave of Carl Manfred were fresh.

Some of them were made of plastic, sure, but an overwhelming majority of the arrangements laid out in honor of the famous painter were live.

Leo Manfred knew this, because he was lying in the middle of the mass grave of blooms and sneezing every few seconds. It seriously messed with his whole Ophelia act.

Hard to contemplate death in any meaningful capacity when you're in the midst of discovering allergies you never even thought you could have, but like, who in their right mind faceplants into their father's resting place at four in the morning, high as a kite and overdressed for the surprisingly balmy March night. Maybe he deserved it for not thinking this plan through.

"Fucking weeds," he mumbled and shoved the lilies off his shoulder with loud crackle of cellophane. "Tacky as shit. Dad would hate them, you dumb cunts. What's the fucking point of bringing flowers to a dead guy, five whole ass months after he kicked it!"

The last part, screamed at the top of his lungs, died without echo. His only response was the sound of a bird's wings as it startled and flew away.

He didn't know why he came here.

Probably to rub it in the old man's face how well he was doing for himself. The inheritance he got paid off all his debts, and he could throw a wild party without looking at his bank balance for once. Leo loved being rich - _really_ rich, not just the son of a rich daddy who routinely denied him the cash anyway. He deserved to come here and tell Carl all about the drugs and alcohol his precious art could buy.

"You're just a sad old man," Leo told the wreath of some prickly reddish growth propped up against the headstone. "A sad, rotting corpse! And I'm having the time of my —"

A bout of sneezing interrupted him.

"Stupid fucking flowers," he repeated, sounding whiny even to himself. He sat up, gasping for breath, and wiped snot from under his nose. Some picture he must make, red-faced, red-eyed, red-iced, and sat in the middle of a heap of bouquets brought by strangers to honor his father like the world's sorest thumb. All the while, the remains of Carl Manfred lay peacefully a few feet below it all, protected from the insufferable fake sympathy and his failure of a son by a slab of granite.

He wouldn't have wanted any of this. Not that Leo knew him well, but he was sure his father would've loathed the pomp of these decorations, the inevitable decay of flowers for the sake of keeping up the pretense of caring. Carl didn't pour his heart and soul into every painting he created in life for people to bring fleeting tokens of memory to the place where his bones were laid to rest. 

But still, they did. Even five months after the funeral, there was scarcely any stone visible under the flowers. 

It felt like everyone and their dog had had a deeper connection with Carl Manfred than Leo Manfred ever did.

"It's my birthday, Dad," he said. "I'm doing just fine."

An empty lie. Markus was doing fine: rallying support and steamrolling the Congress for android rights, becoming the darling of social media and a historical figure within months of having his first conscious thought. To think Leo had punched it into him. Saw his father die and ensured he would not be the son anyone remembered, all in one evening.

He sniffled. 

"I wanna be someone too, you know?" he said. "But I got nothing. I'm the junkie heir who can't even draw stickmen and got almost lynched out of the fucking city after that exhibition performance I did. 'Disgrace to his father,' they said, like no artist ever tore up a few pictures." He huffed, half laughter and half sigh. "Even tried getting back in college after the last time I was here, but admission was closed, and then I was too busy to send in my papers when I could... You know how it is." Carl had known. He would gently berate Leo for missing deadlines like this time and again, both of them knowing full well it was out of spite and laziness that he let opportunities pass him by.

"I tried," his voice wavered, but he swallowed and pressed on. "I tried, but who do I got to support me? Mom's just happy we got the money, she gave up trying to raise me ages ago. I'm twenty... Twenty-nine, for fuck's sake. Can't keep dumping my shit on her shoulders. 

"All my friends just laugh and take me out to drink on my tab when I say I wanna do something with myself. Pit of fucking snakes, all as dumb as me." Leo laughed. "I got no one now. Can't believe you were the only guy who really gave half a shit about me, and I hated you the most. And now you're gone."

The silence of the graveyard was all that answered him. There was something beautiful in the near-complete darkness, the detachment from reality that came with shutting out all the light and sound that surrounded him every day. Leo shivered. 

He didn't fear the darkness. Nor the loneliness, really, even though he spent his waking hours trying to chase it away. The world of the living was, for all its rituals, indifferent to the dead it left behind in the garden of memory. Leo felt oddly at peace in this pocket of oblivion. 

He would crash soon; he knew the tells of his body coming off a high. For now, though, he had this. The silence. The memories.

His thoughts stalled on his previous visit to Carl's grave. It had been just as quiet then, the flowers half covered in snow, the mourners already far away. They moved on with their lives as the recall for androids went out and half of Detroit scrambled to escape the robot revolution. The graveyard was bathed in stark sunlight, then, and Leo had exactly zero excuse to pretend he didn't recognize Markus' imposing figure. Was the android always this tall? 

The goddamn bot bore the weight of a nation's fate with his plastic shoulders squared and barely a glance spared for the sorry motherfucker who set him on this path.

Well. Not like he'd have anything more right now. But it was the asscrack of dawn, so whatever politicking Robot Moses had lined up was probably scheduled for when normal people were awake. 

Before his brain caught up to his actions, Leo had his phone to his ear, wondering if the old contact he had for the android still worked, what with him being a person and not a walking answering machine now.

"Leo?"

Markus' voice came clear and flat across the connection. Leo blanked.

"Hi, uh. What— I mean, can you talk?"

A pause. When he spoke again, Markus sounded even more guarded.

"I can. Why are you calling me?"

Leo sighed. Silence stretched between them. He had been so full of words just a moment earlier, so why couldn't he choke out anything now, when someone was listening for once?

"I don't actually know," he said, covering up his nerves with a reedy laugh. "I'm just... I'm at dad's grave, and hi— and drunk as shit, and thought to myself, whatever, y'know? I'm doing everything wrong, and nobody will remember me, and I've got all this money I always wanted — at least I think I still do, didn't check how much is left and— and— fuck. You could use it, right? You couldn't get anything because the law, and I'm not doing anything right, so maybe—"

"Leo, slow down," Markus' words finally registered. Leo's jaw clicked shut. "We could always use more support, but... Is this what you're calling about? Sharing inhe— about donations?"

"I guess not," Leo admitted. "Wouldn't be the dumbest financial decision I've made to dump all of it on you, though."

"That's a pretty high bar," came the reply, tinged with humor. Leo sneered, though without too much heat. Fatigue creeped up his shoulders. 

"I just. I don't know, Markus. Maybe I wanna try and do something worth being remembered for, other than shoving you into deviancy," he shot back.

Markus laughed - a small, heavy sound, but it lifted something from Leo's heart. "Appreciated, that," he said, sounding wry and bemused in equal measure.

Huh. Maybe the bot wasn't so bad.

"Anyway," Leo continued, feeling his courage run out, "if you need some money, or to make use of the house, or... whatever, just ring me, okay? I might not remember this tomorrow, but I need to get my ass kicked if I don't want to end up a piece of shit for life, and I guess you of all people deserve to retaliate. Literally or not. So, uh. Keep in touch?"

"Will do," came the reluctant reply. "Will you get home safe? I can send someo—"

"No, I'm good, I'm good."

"Um. That's, uh. That's good?"

If he weren't so embarrassed, Leo might have relieved the tension that grew between them. As it were, he just threw an awkward bye into the receiver and hung up.

God, this was stupid. He made a moron of himself in front of the savior of androids. Classic Leo.

Still, when he finally dragged himself to bed, curtains drawn to block out the sunrise, even the onset of a hangover couldn't dampen the feeling that he was finally headed somewhere good in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> alt title: Leo Enters His Goth Phase And Finally Starts To Grow Up, Maybe
> 
> I just wanted to write him being a dramatic piece of shit laying around on a grave, y'kno? Turns out thinking about death is good for the soul. Go Leo. 
> 
> This was written live in the [New ERA Discord.](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm)


End file.
